F is for Friends

'Friends. They cherish one another's hopes. They are kind to one another's dreams'. - Henry David Thoreau

Sometimes, we forget how lucky we are.

I have friends.

Some have come and gone, and in their brief stay, they have provided ever-lasting memories that last through a lifetime. I've had friends, that have been in my life for over 20 years - and still we find ways to love and cherish each other. A way to celebrate something that is so rare nowadays. True friendship. I've had friends that I have somehow managed to detach myself from, and not a day goes by that I don't feel guilty that in my road to trying new things and finding peace, I have disregarded the faithful love they display for me constantly.

My mom had only one best friend her whole life. Carmen. They were friends from elementary school, all the way through college. Mom is not a person who opens up easily to people, she's always been very guarded and keeps her personal life close to her heart. I remember growing up, mom would sit with me on our giant hammock and bring with her an old tin cigar box full of letters her and Carmen exchanged from their late teens to late 20's. I must have read those letters thousands of times, unable to grasp that these two people were at some point VERY funny, loving and close. They talked about life and their future plans in some letters. Others dove deep into philosophy and religion, with both of them being at opposite sides of the spectrum. But Carmencita had this cut throat approach to humor...sarcastic...brilliant. I'd ask mom when were we going to finally visit her so I could meet her (she only lived a few minutes away) and she'd say 'Soon'. Was she afraid that her liberal friend would corrupt me, since I already had her on a pedestal?

Time passed, I grew up and stopped reading the letters. Mom rarely spoke of her friend. We moved to the US, and when I was around 17, Mom decided to visit Puerto Rico by herself - leaving me behind in the US with Dad. Before the trip she spoke of visiting Carmen, because she missed her a lot and life was in a rough spot...she needed to share with her best friend. Two days after arriving in Puerto Rico, my mom called me and seemed very quiet. I asked her if everything was alright, and she said she went to visit Carmen. I immediately bombarded her with excited questions and giggles, she waited for me to stop talking and said "She died 2 years ago". I felt like my own best friend had died, so I can't imagine what she felt. Her only best friend is now dead, and she never got to reconnect.

When I was 14, I went to a house party in a bad side of town in Mayaguez, PR. I had never been to a house party by myself (no parents) and was mingling around with my much older friend Rebecca. I saw things I shouldn't have but acted like they were the norm for me. That coupled with how tall I was helped in blending in and being able to relax while there. Everyone thought I was older, so I wasn't bothered or made feel unwelcome. While I was sitting there on a couch, watching people smoke and talk, do drug transactions like they were trading baseball cards, a guy in his early 30's came up to me. I looked up at him, in his Yankees jersey and baggy jeans, and then my eyes went from his multiple gold chains to the cane he was leaning on as he walked. He reached his hand out and said "Freddy", with a smirk. I shook his hand and before I could say anything he said "Yari. Carlos' daughter". I must've looked puzzled, because he limped over and sat next to me on the couch, putting his arm around me like he knew me all my life. He started telling me he grew up with my dad in Brooklyn from ages 5 until 14. Both his family and my dad's had moved to PR that same year, to this same town and they had remained good friends. Best friends he said. Dad had never mentioned him to me, which was odd. He said that my dad had changed before I was born, gotten all religious and such. This didn't sit well with Freddy and they stopped hanging out. But he had heard from the family that Carlos had a baby girl, and was living a clean life away from gambling and hustling in pool halls. He was proud of my dad, and said "If he and I would've still been hanging out, he would've gotten shot the same night I did...and maybe he wouldn't be limping". I felt a chill down my spine and simply smiled, feeling very uncomfortable. He could tell I was getting a bit upset and said "Just tell him Freddy said Hi, and thanks for making him wait 14 years to meet his best friend's kid". I nodded, he hobbled away. I told my dad as soon as I got home, and he looked over at my mom...some sort of quiet exchange. We never spoke of Freddy again.

I asked my dad later on if he had any best friends aside from Freddy, he simply said Roberto Patxot was my only best friend. I remembered him, and his three sons (who grew up with me and were in turn my best friends)...and then I thought of something else. When I was 5, I was sitting in the living room watching cartoons and heard the next door neighbor call my mom out to the yard. I saw them out there talking and heard my mom crying. She came in and told me Robert0 had died in a car accident earlier. I was 5, but I understood. I got up and turned off the t.v. and gave mom a hug. I felt very sad for his kids, especially Xavier who was my age and his youngest. Just then my dad pulled in, and he simply stood in the doorway looking battered. Mom gave him a hug and dad cried. He came over and picked me up right away and sat me on his lap and kept telling me he loved me and hugging me tight. I just patted his back and didn't really know what to do. When I was older I found out that Roberto was on his way to meet my dad for lunch, as they did every day, at their favorite restaurant. He never showed up and my dad was really pissed at him that he didn't call or say he wasn't going to lunch, so dad lost an important chance to meet with a big client. When dad found out he had died, guilt over being mad at him pretty much tormented him for years. He still talks about him, and we all get sad and miss him very much.

The friends I've made through life, wether it was the first day of school or a random chance meeting on Twitter, have always brought a lesson with them. I wouldn't change any of the people in my life for anything. Everything happens for a reason, and as the days grow odder and the world gets a little bit more insane, it is these people who bring the laughs and love to me.

I guess I was thinking of how sometimes, even when some friends do crappy things, I should feel lucky that I have them. That I haven't had to bury a friend, or stop hanging out with one because it would mean getting shot if we went out somewhere together. It made me think of how selfish I am, when I feel like ending it. How many people I would hurt, how I'd be THAT person they'd talk about to their kids or families...the one that died.

I'm not really sure where I'm headed with this...but as I enclose myself inside my head more and more these days...I miss my few real friends so much. I rather bury myself, than have to bury one of them.

So be it. Blessed be, all. You are loved.